The Price of Fame
by Discord in the Playground
Summary: Great honors come with great burdens.


The Sanguinor ran, sidestepping the Blood Angels on his path and ignoring the screams of agony and the roars of fire echoing throughout the tunnels underneath the fortress-monastery. His wings were now memory, long burnt to ashes. His Glaive Encarmine laid broken somewhere on the ground above.

**She** was coming closer, he could hear it. The screams were closing in.

He ran, his whole body aching from the wounds he suffered during the surprise attack. Molten ceramite surrounded the slashes in his artificer armor.

A crescendo of bolter fire made him risk a look behind him. Adrenaline rushed further into his body when he saw the flames at the end of the corridor.

He ran faster, the red emergency lights blurring past him. His speed was so great he didn't see the panicked serfs coming from one side of an intersection before he collided with them.

He tried desperately to writhe from under the pile of confused humans and felt his blood leave his face when they were all incinerated, mere ashes within seconds.

The Sanguinor crawled backwards as the winged figure landed before him, towering above him with all her power-armored might. Holding firmly an imposing fiery sword in one hand, she clasped his neck with the other and effortlessly yanked him from the ground until his feet hovered a good foot above it.

"C-calm down," he begged. "Saint C-Celestine, calm d-URK!"

"Calm down?" she screamed, tightening her grip over his neck. "You dare to ask me to calm down? There's only one angel of the Emperor around here and it's **me**! Have I made myself clear, you **ripoff**?"

Something vaguely sounding like "gurglegglurg," was the only thing the Sanguinor could utter.

"And once I'm done with you, I'll terminate your **thronedamn** Chapter and all its **thronedamn** Successors!" Saint Celestine absentmindedly threw him against the wall, leaving a huge dent, as she continued her rant. "Inferno pistols? Hand flamers? **Thronedamn** Baal Predators with **thronedamn** Flamestorm Cannon and **thronedamn** heavy flamer sponsons?"

She burnt down an assault squad trying to rescue the Sanguinor with her Ardent Blade without noticing it.

"And what's this deal with _Fast_ Razorbacks with twin-linked heavy flamers? For 55 points! Who the **hell** do you think you are? We have to pay 65 points for an Immolator! And they don't come with fancy free smoke launchers and searchlights!"

"But you can move 12" and still fire your heavy flam-"

Saint Celestine planted firmly her foot on his back as he scrambled back to his feet, sprawling his helpless form on the floor. "You're _Fast_, thronedamnit! You can do the same and more!"

"You wouldn't have caught me without your wings," the Sanguinor whimpered. "You're not even supposed to have them! Your model doesn't have the-"

Saint Celestine kicked him into the wall.

"I've got them in my artwork, and you **better** believe it's superior to some model where I have **thronedamn** flowers on my sword's hilt and I look like I'm attacked by a **thronedamn** hairdryer!"

"Yes madam..." he muttered miserably. _'I'm going to die,'_ he thought as she once again clasped his neck and rose him above the ground. _'I need to find a way out of it...'_

"I heard... I heard the Black... Templars were going to have... Acts of Faith in their next Codex..." he lied blatantly.

Saint Celestine's eyes became as wide as saucers. **"WHAT?"** she screamed, whirling around and throwing him into the other wall, leaving another dent. "It's the only thing making us different from female Space Marines!"

And with the righteous fury of those completely forgotten by Games Workshop, she roared her wrath to the skies, took off and tore through the ceiling, not caring in the least that there was a good mile of rockrete before the surface.

The Sanguinor waited a whole minute before daring to open his eyes, staring in relief at the destroyed ceiling above him. He stood up, wiping the sweat from his face. Well, he tried to, since he was wearing a mask.

"And once again, the mighty Sanguinor triumphed!" he said smugly to himself as he flexed his muscles in classic 'macho man' poses.

When he finally paid back attention to his surroundings, he noticed with a certain apprehension he was surrounded by Legionnaires of the Damned, all armed to the teeth.

"'Coming from nowhere to save Space Marines in difficulty and snatch hard-fought victory from bitter defeat,' eh?" the sergeant said, an evil glint in his eye lenses. "Don't you know it's our job?"

_'Son of a-'_


End file.
